Never Let Go
by junebug1234
Summary: A series of one-shots based on lines from 'Never Let Go', by Bryan Adams
1. Chapter 1

**_Can you lay your life down, so a stranger can live?_**

It was his job. And as much as he might hate it sometimes, he had a duty. Danny handed over his gun. The men in front of him, masked and seriously _ripped_, shoved the detective to the floor.

"Eighty." Danny muttered. "It stops here,"

"What was that?" The man drawled, his Jersey accent clear.

"Eighty homicide cases under the belt, moron," Danny snapped. "Just commenting on my –oof!" The fist collided with his face.

"Shut it, man, unless you want to die faster."

"Let them go, that's all I wanted." Danny calmed his tone. "You get me, they get free, okay?" The kidnapper smiled.

"And our agreement stands, Detective Williams." He nodded, and the hostages ran out of the bank, the little girl's big brown eyes connecting with Danny's. So much like his daughters eyes, and too young to be burdened with the troubles she now had. Her mother, beaten down trying to protect her, her father shot trying to reach his daughter. All outside now.

Danny looked back to the masked men.

"Thank you. If you turn yourself in now, the judge won't hesitate. They'll lessen your sentence."

"I'm already in for life, man." The man snarled, gesturing to the two bodies lying on the floor, blood pooled around them. Danny stayed silent. It was true.

"Might as well kill you," The masked man sneered. Danny closed his eyes. He was ready.

Suddenly, the doors crash, windows exploded, and gunfire sounded all around the detective as he fell to the ground, a bullet lodging within his flesh. His mind flashed to the conversation he had with the Chief of Police, outside, before he walked in, sacrificing himself.

"_Are you sure, Williams?" _

"_Yes. Very. When the hostages are out, neutralize the threat. They've gone too far. They killed a little boy in there, and my life isn't worth risking any more casualties." Danny's blue eyes were firm. "Take them out when I've cleared the room."_

"_It's not clear, you'll still be in it," The chief argued. _

"_I'll do what's necessary." Danny said softly. "Serve and protect, sir. I've made my choice."_

Shouts from the New Jersey Police Department filled the air, guns still being discharged. Danny knew that no kidnappers would escape, not now. They would not harm another child. Not while Danny was living.

H

5

0

Steve's eyes strained against the desert sun. This mission had been FUBAR from the beginning. And now they would pay for it. Steve breathed softly, motioning for his team to stay back.

"No matter what happens, _stay here_," He whispered.

"Dog, leave no man behind," Taylor whispered.

"You have to this time," Steve ground out. "We have hostages back there that need someone to help them. I'll take care of the village. I'll provide a distraction, that's the best I can do. But the people can free themselves with a distraction, and save themselves. You will save yourself and those people back there. That's an order." His men reluctantly nodded.

Steve squared his shoulders.

This is what he did. As a SEAL, he was willing to die for his country. Steve's duty demanded it. Here he was, willing to sacrifice himself, not for his country, but for this village of people from a different country.

_Isn't it the same_? His mind whispered.

They had children, they had families. Lives that would never be completed, a purpose to serve that would never come to be if Steve allowed this to happen. Children wailed.

Children that would be dead soon.

Women wept, reaching for their husbands, their children, _anyone_ as long as they were friendly. Their response was the butt of a gun, beating them into submission.

It was the same.

Men, their voices hoarse from tortured screams.

Copper. The scent of blood, filling the air.

It was the same, because Steve would die for them. He would die for the children whose tear streaked faces turned away from the executions that would soon happen. He would die for the women, who huddled together, facing the inevitability of death and pain. He would die for the men, for the lives viciously destroyed. He would die for this village, who without him, would not be able to survive this day.

He would die for the lives obliterated, for the futures lost. For upholding justice.

He would die to protect his team who watched his steps toward the village.

He would die for them. For their freedom, and for their lives.

He would die, but the village would be safe.

H

5

0

Kono was in high school. She was respectful, fun, and a cheerful person. Her friends went through stages of stress when homework got to heavy, or when a boyfriend or girlfriend dumped them. Kono went through her stage of reclusiveness after an incident she would never forget.

Fire lapped the walls of the house, slowly devouring it. She saw it one weekend, walking back to her house.

She joined the crowd of neighbours, all holding each other looking on in fear.

"My son! Meiko!" A hysterical woman was being held back from leaping into the fire. Frantic eyes turned to Kono.

"Please, my son is in there! He's only five, please," she screamed. Kono's heart went out to the women.

"I'll find him," she whispered, and dropped her backpack. Before anyone was aware of the small girl, she had slipped forward, moving into the burning house.

She stayed low.

Her shirt was raised over her mouth, but smoke was filling her lungs.

She heard a cry from the back of the house, and she struggled through the blinding heat.

Her skin blistered in the intensity, and as she shoved a piece of wood out of the way, her arm burned, skin popping as she was scarred.

She pulled open the door, and drew the crying child into her arms.

She didn't feel the flames catch on her clothing.

She wasn't aware of the heat emanating from the board that fell from the ceiling, blocking their way out.

She didn't recognize the damage she inflicted on her hands when she picked it up and moved it.

She didn't remember her hair burning.

She does remember the firefighters carrying her from the building, into desperately needed air.

She remembers the plastic surgery to repair the burns that snaked around her hands and arms.

She remembers the months it took to recover.

She also remembers the gratitude of the family.

She remembers the smile of the little boy she saved.

She remembers his name.

Then she remembers why she became a police officer.

And she smiles.

H

5

0

He didn't even know their names. He thought that he should have, seeing they went through hell together. He wanted to know their names. He _wanted _to know their names. But he couldn't remember. The names were important. And he didn't know them. He wanted to. Know them, that is.

He wants to know the names of the people who swarmed around him, shaking his hand. Thanking him for saving their lives.

He thinks it's odd, how he remembers other things.

Chin remembers the strange shade of grey her eyes were, and the small scar that pulled on his lip.

He remembers how he thought she should be a dancer, and how he must like biology. He remembers the calculus book that had fallen from her arms, and the sketching pad that was crushed in his bag.

He remembers how he stepped forward, his arms raised.

He remembers the expressions the small group of people all had, looking at the police officer, the one who should save them.

He remembers offering himself. He remembers his willingness to die.

He remembers not risking the life of anyone in that room with him.

He remembers the soft hands that caressed his face as he lay, fevered, injured and dying.

He remembers the sirens, wailing up to the front of the warehouse, the voices and the steps of those tearing the building apart.

He remembers their salvation, and he remembers the warmth of the hugs and handshakes he received afterwords. He remembers the mutter from his mentor, John about how he was a self sacrificing idiot.

He remembers the lives saved, and the smiles pulled. He thinks to the futures they have, and the families they can return to.

And he didn't care about their names.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Can take what you need, but take less than you give?**_

"Give it to me," The irate voice bombarded Danny.

"No! I swear you go on these raids just to play with big guns!"

"I do not! Look, I can use these anytime I want—"

"That does not make it alright, Steven. Why can't we use regular handguns? Do you need this—this abomination?"

"What do you mean? It's a perfectably reasonable weapon to use in a strategic op—"

"_No_! Steven, _really_, what did I tell you about using that phrase? Huh? This is _unacceptable_ and I will have to put my foot down at some point, and that means impeding your ludicrous ideas of using this weapon for a raid! No! I don't even want this near me! I think I'd feel dangerous if I had to see my daughter after touching that, it's _so_ unnecessary."

"Ludicrous, really?"

"That's all you got out of that speech? No, Steven. We _will not_ take the bazooka."

H

5

0

Steve and Danny drove in different cars. Steve took Chin, and Danny partnered with Kono. They had scowled at each other before Steve sent Kono and Danny ahead to set up and get ready for the raid.

Now, Steve was waiting at the edge of a large lawn. Grass stretched out before them, and a massive house rested at the horizon line. The moon shone softly over the deceptively mild setting. All the police now waiting for a signal to move in, knew that there were hostages kept in there, and many heavily armed men, waiting for law enforcement just to shoot at them.

For once, Steve offered to stay back. Frowning suspiciously, Danny ignored the occurrence, chalking it up to Steve's cut arm. Danny respected that the SEAL knew his own limitations, and the gash he obtained two days ago still hadn't healed adequately.

Steve smiled at Chin, who nodded back.

Chin hurried along the perimeter of the yard, hugging to the shadow of the trees. Kono jogged behind him, and Danny covered her. HPD ran at the other side, and they timed the entrance to the barricaded house perfectly.

Grenades blew the reinforced doors off, allowing the police to muscle their way in.

The interior of the house was dark, but when shouts of '_police' _and _'HPD!' _filled the air, gunshot reverberated around the room.

Flashes of light from the muzzle of the guns illuminated the faces of the kidnappers, and six men slid out the window before an officer noticed the escape route. They radioed the only person out there, and hoped that Steve would be able to capture all six. They doubted it.

Chin led the way down the stairs, and they took the lives of more of the kidnappers, all who aimed their weapons at the Five-0 task force. Chin cleared the closest room, and Danny slipped into the one across the hall.

Kono headed further down the hallway, staying where she could guard the hallway, making sure no one got the drop on the _haole_ or her cousin.

The last door they arrived at held the hostages, bound and crying. Danny nodded to Chin and Kono, who helped them to stand. Leading the men and women outside, Danny reported the finding of all the hostages to every other officer.

As HPD finished clearing the house, Chin led the way back to Steve, who was standly smugly over four bound and gagged men.

"Two got away." He reported. "Of course, I wasn't told _how_ many were coming out, just that I should expect unfriendlies." He grinned. Chin looked at the bruises and cuts decorating the faces of the before unmarred men. Kono could spot at least two obvious dislocations, and Danny knew the way one man was holding himself that he had broken a few ribs. The last man lay unmoving.

"What's with him?" Danny asked.

"Dead." Steve replied, his voice not sounding unrepentant.

"How did he die, Steven?" Danny prodded, a feeling of unease rising in him.

"He tried to kill me, Daniel. I broke his neck." Steve shrugged. "Unfortunately, it was necessary at the time."

"Ah." Danny didn't respond to the patronizing tone Steve adopted. As the last of HPD cleared out, and ambulances rolled into the yard with more police cars, the sound of chopper blades filled the air. Suddenly, a bright light bathed all the officers, ambulances, hostages and kidnappers on the ground.

Shouts were heard, as machine gun fire erupted from the helicopter. Danny flinched as a missile collided with a police car, instantly incinerating it. He grabbed a still, shocked Kono and threw her to the ground to where Chin already lay.

Looking around, he noticed Steve was gone.

"Where is he?" Danny yelled over another explosion. "Where the hell did they get this copper?"

Chin didn't reply, merely winced as screams and cries of pain filled the air. Danny felt bile rise in his stomach at the destruction the vengeful helicopter was meting out.

As quickly as he had gone, Steve was back, standing in the middle of the field, tall and proud. As the wind from the blades ruffled his hair, and the machine gun poked holes into the cars around him, Danny could believe Steve was a SEAL. Not distracted at all by the pain, or the death that had happened so quickly, and his cold, hard stare promising death.

That, and the bazooka gracing his shoulder.

The very same bazooka that had fired as soon as it has been raised to be directed at the helicopter.

The same bazooka that had made the helicopter explode.

Danny buried his head in his hands and groaned. He hated it when Steve was right.

H

5

0

Two weeks after the incident, Chin returned to work. He had been shot, and slightly burned by the assault the helicopter had launched. As he walked into the office, Steve greeted him cheerfully. The whole team congregated to welcome their last member back.

"How's the side?" Danny asked.

"Good, brah. All healed." He smiled in appreciation for the concern. "Would have been a lot worse if we hadn't had that bazooka." He shot a mischievious look at his cousin, who giggled behind her hand. Steve nodded seriously.

"Well, you know," Steve shrugged, pausing, and then his face broke into a smug grin as he looked triumphantly at Danny. "Give me a little, you get a lot."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_None of these views from the woman shared by me!_

_**Could you close every day, without the glory and fame? Could you hold your head high, when no one knows your name?**_

Steve smiled. He thanked her. He sat in the airport, leaning back on a chair. He was not in uniform, having recently been released from the hospital, and told to wear loose and easy to remove clothing. His leg ached, and he had a friend retrieving his other bags for him. He was sitting in a hanger for a departing flight, waiting for his friend. The airport was quiet, barely anyone talking.

People around him were milling about, and the woman snorted angrily next to him. She was reading an article. The whole row, quiet, looked at her.

"This is ridiculous." She snapped. Steve's eyebrows furrowed. A man a row across from her leaned forward.

"Are you alright?" He asked. She rolled her eyes.

"Of course I am! It's just, this war, it's stupid." Steve stifled a scowl.

"You don't agree with war?" He asked softly. She shook her head. The whole airport seemed intrigued with her speech.

"No! The government sends these half-witted men and women out into a place that should be able to take care of itself. We _waste_ money and supplies keeping this war going. Military idiots sacrificing their lives for a cause that isn't even worth it."

"You don't support the men and women fighting?" A man asked. "I can understand hating the war, but not the people fighting it."

"The war wouldn't continue if people fighting it would back down."

"I don't like the war either," Steve chipped in, "but you don't agree with defending your country?"

"Look, defending the country is crap. We have the money and resources to fend for ourselves. Any soldier who sends themselves out there is just wanting a fight. There's no reason to continue this. People in the military are bloodthirsty and they hate peace. War has _never_ solved anything before. This country just wants to prove that we had morons willing to fight and give up their lives for something that isn't worth it. Air force have people obsessed with planes, and the Navy guys like the sensation of waves. They don't go out and fight. They sit back like cowards, waiting for something bad to happen so the country is enraged with them."

"You think these people are cowards?" The man across from her asked.

"I think they're trigger-happy, gun-toting idiots who don't care about anything other than getting a good thrill." She replied haughtily. Steve was shocked. Did people actually think that way.

The woman fell silent as a man in uniform walked past them with his luggage.

"And special operations idiots just think that they're better than everyone else." She continued after he was out of sight. Most people were now watching her with disgust.

"You know, like SEALs, and black ops, and special agents sent to recover sensitive information." She took on a mocking tone.

"They have a more dangerous job," another woman spoke up.

"They like the risk. War is a place for people who would otherwise be criminals."

"Or patriots," Steve replied.

"What would you know," she replied, asking angrily.

"Sorry," Steve answered back. "Just saying."

"My son is in the army, and I hate it. It's making him just another grunt who wants to go running around in the desert."

"I think you've been misinformed about this war," Steve grinned a little.

"It's just my opinion," she finally said. "Think what you want, pretend that they're heroes, just remember, I know the truth. They aren't. They run around in groups so they don't get hurt."

"They get hurt plenty," another man retorted. "My daughter is a Marine. She always is willing to place herself in the line of fire for her friends, for her country."

"What she's doing is wrong!" The woman exclaimed.

"We should thank them every day for sacrificing their lives for us!" The man snapped back. "Even if they don't die, a huge portion of their life is lost to defending us! To defending you!"

"I never asked to be _defended._ I want them to stop pretending they deserve respect just because they wear a uniform. Every time there is a soldier around, they're always in uniform. So they can be recognized, and praised." Sarcasm dripped off her words.

Steve sighed, and stood up, as the man retorted angrily, and grabbed his crutches. He walked towards the exit, ignored the looks from people in the hanger. He sat down on a bench, leaning his head back against the wall.

Just then, a man in uniform interrupted the heated discussion.

"Excuse me," he said, looking uncomfortable. The whole hanger was silent. The man looked around.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you saw a man about this tall, brown hair, crutches?" He asked, his voice sounding exhausted. They nodded, and pointed out the stranger who had walked away.

"Is he in trouble?" One of the woman asked.

The man looked surprised. "Oh, no ma'am." He gave a small smile. "I have his bag."

"Going somewhere together?" The woman who had shown her dislike for the war piped up, innuendo dripping from her words.

"No ma'am." The soldier's voice hardened. "Neither of us have anyone to return home to, so I offered to help him with his bags before we went our separate ways. It's the least I could do."

"Why the least?" She asked snidely. "He want more?"

"No. That's a Lieutenant in the Navy. He was recently injured in the line of duty, defending his country and people like you, ma'am. I hope to show him my gratitude, since he is one of those—"

"-gun-toting, trigger-happy black ops guys that likes wearing his uniform not because I just got home but because I like the recognition?" A new voice cut in. His voice was cold by the end. "One of those people who just go out there and fight for your life because I want to pretend I'm a hero?" The woman looked chastised. The man with a daughter in the Marines stood.

"Thank you, sir. You have our gratitude for defending our country." Steve shook his hand. He saluted sharply to the rest of the crowd watching smugly as the woman's face burned red. He turned, and left, his crutches making his gait awkward.

"4 people. American citizens." A voice cut sharply in the silence. The other soldier had remained with the bags.

"What?" Someone asked.

"Hostages, but the press didn't release it yet. Didn't want there to be panic. It was kept on the down low. That man," the soldier continued, gesturing to where Steve had disappeared, "helped lead a SEAL team in, rescue them from hostile territory and escape. They had loaded the hostages onto helicoptors, but they had found more than expected, and a few had to wait for another chopper to come and retrieve them. They stayed behind in a dangerous place, allowing people they had never met before, a few who couldn't even speak English, onto safety before themselves. They were compromised, though. Almost caught, too. He led them to a road, leading away from the compound where the hostages were held. They were attacked with IED's and that's where he hurt his leg. But they couldn't stop.

"Someone else had been injured. He knew that one, he had to remove the men who had stayed behind from danger, and two, keep their mind of the pain of basically being hit by bombs. Kept them moving until they crossed the border. When they were safe, he finally was able to call in for an extraction.

"Now, I understand not liking the war. I understand disliking that the government would continue to endorse the fighting. However, I _do not_ understand how someone could sit and complain that people are out their, willing to sacrifice _everything_ for them. Maybe one of those hostages was a daughter, or son. Husband, or wife. I think that maybe you would be happy to have someone to be brave and courageous enough to try and save them. Maybe then you would realize how lucky we are. Not having a war, no, that's not something to celebrate. If you don't support the war, that's fine. But maybe you should support those fighting in it."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_**That's how legends are made**_

_**At least that's what they say**_

_**We say goodbye**_

_**But never let go**_

__Her father was one of those people you _just didn't talk to_. He was kind, and comforting, but with any social problems, any time she needed a listening ear, she would go to her uncle. Her uncle would hug her, and take her out for shave ice. He'd let her surf, and if she was upset, she would cry hear tears out there on the water, where no one could see them. When she was done, he'd sit with her, and she would pour her heart out to him. He was the most important person in her life. Sometimes her friends laughed when she mentioned her uncle being her best friend. She would smile softly at them, as if she had an inside joke they didn't know. His kindness and courage, his goodwill and strength rubbed off on her, and she found herself laughing at cruel words, not letting them hurt too much. But anytime she needed a listening ear, he would be there. As she grew, she depended on him almost as much as she depended on breathing itself. He was her constant, and her strength. As she grew older, her uncle was not around as much, but she knew he was on the other end on a phone call, and would stop his life for a few moments to just _listen_. And she knew she would be devastated if he ever left her.

Now, years later, she's sitting next to his hospital bed. Disbelief courses through her. _Cancer_. Too late to operate, just enough time to make him comfortable. _He's not comfortable_. Those eyes that could stare at her and make her spill her secrets, and the same weathered face that brightened with a smile so many times before was fading before her eyes. Her aunt, his husband, had died a few years ago. She knew he would be happy to see her again. She clutched his hand.

_Harsh breaths_.

Brown eyes holding his. They were welling with tears.

_No. Don't cry_.

Acceptance shone in his eyes.

_No. Don't go_.

A life, slipping away. She rocked back on her feet, away from the body. Away from _him_. Her brown eyes released one tear, creating a wet line down her cheek. Anger jolted through her because of her reaction. Her body straightened. She stood. Her mother enfolded the girl in her arms.

"Don't forget, love," her mother whispered. "He will always be there for you."

"_How_? He's _dead_." She whispered, her voice harsh. How could her mother think that the one person in the world who was always there to listen, to laugh, to cry with her would be able to comfort her now?

"He wouldn't want you to cry, Kono."

"He's dead. You don't know what he would have wanted." Kono restrained the tears. They were shameful. Only he had seen her cry shamelessly.

"His spirit lives on, Kono. Don't insult his memory." The older woman advised, warningly. She didn't want Kono to ignore the important lessons taught.

Years passed. She grew. She held back emotions much better than before. Joining 5-0 let her see the eons of time other police officers had to protect themselves from emotion.

Chin was always calm, he never got truly angry. In front of others, that is. Chin was controlled, and patient. He taught her to hold herself with dignity. He taught her that things didn't always work out, but he would always be there for her, and that was enough to stop the tears in front of the governor. He taught her that being upset before Steve or Danny was all right, because everyone had bad days.

Danny was emotional. His arms flailed, his voice rose and fell like waves on the ocean. He did not hold back. Incredulity, fear, anger, joy, Danny conveyed his feelings. At times, he would go quiet, and Steve would look at him strangely, but say nothing. No one besides the emotionally challenged boss seemed to truly understand the Jersey native. From him, Kono learned to pick and choose. Choose one that was never going to let you down, and allow _only them_ to understand the inner workings of your soul. From him, Kono learned that emotions were ok, that showing them was not a sign of weakness. Kono learned that she could be an enigma, a mystery by knowing when to show emotions, and when to not. From him, Kono learned that strength was to have emotions, and to learn to keep them to yourself only when it was necessary.

Steve was a soldier. A sailor. He was a killing machine. Bred to kill at the command of his country, emotion was foreign to him. But he tried. For Steve, emotion was celebrated. When his broken, fractured life made a little more sense because Danny explained in no uncertain terms that _no_, most people _didn't_ appreciate AK-47's _quite_ as much him, he listened. Because it was how Steve taught himself. He didn't stay in the country when others were learning how to be polite and civilized. He was fighting for it when people assumed social etiquette was taught to everyone. From Steve, Kono learned to be emotionless. But then she also learned to not, because to become emotionless was to have too much emotion trapped inside, a trigger waiting to let it out. Steve taught her that being able to hide was a dark, confusing place, one she realized she would never want to be. And she felt pity for him, and guilt that she was short tempered with his lack of social protocol. With his bluntness. She felt guilt when she laughed at his actions, an action no one else would do, because they weren't in Afghanistan, willing to die for them.

The three most emotionally confused men on the island, all cops, accustomed to violence, taught her something valuable. A Navy SEAL, whose job was spent becoming familiar with weaponry, one who did not always follow the speed society had progressed while he was gone. A loud, Jersey cop who would mysteriously go quiet, let only one other know why, and share his thoughts because _it was ok_ to be open. From one shunned by his family, in trying to protect them, and retreating behind defensive emotional walls, not letting anymore hate reach him.

Kono learned to open up, and appreciate that she could feel. She learned to hold back, and be that eye of a hurricane, the calm in a storm. She learned to be the storm, because sometimes it was the only way to be herself.

And knowing this, she knelt by his gravestone. She couldn't come before. Acknowledging his death meant she would cry. She would not cry, because he had taught her to be strong. But now, she thinks she can accept it. And accepting it makes it only too real. She thought of those she had saved, and those she had lost. She laid a flower on his grave.

"I'll miss you, Uncle," she whispered to her childhood friend. And she wept.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

_**We live, we die**_

_**Cause you can't save every soul**_

Danny let his arm fall to the side. He stared sightlessly into the distance. His partner grasped his arm. He tried so hard, and it didn't make a difference.

"Hey man, look, you did everything you could,"

"Shut _up_." Danny snarled. He stood. He walked away. The body was left behind.

H50

Kono frowned at her friend. The drugs she had found were clenched in her hand.

"Look, I just want—"

"I _know_ what you want! But this is _my_ life, not yours! Stop trying to be my mother!" Melissa snatched the drugs, turned and walked away. Her body was found three days later, cause of death ruled as an overdose.

H50

Steve eyes were cold. Objective. He had to be. Sure, he didn't want to leave his team member behind, but they knew the risks when they signed up, and they ignored direct orders. As far as they knew, he was dead. And Steve could risk more lives waiting on one man.

Shouldering his gun, he turned and headed towards the waiting helicopter. He walked away. Ten days later news of a lucky survivor reached the ears of the SEALs forced to leave. They reached him as quickly as they could, just in time to see him gunned down as they were landing.

H50

Chin tried wiping the blood off on his pants. Nausea was welling up inside of him. As if sensing his unease, his friend offered him a garbage can that he had kept near. The sterile hospital smell filled his nose and he winced. The doctor came out and offered a smile.

"The suicide was unsuccessful," the words would always haunt Chin. "You can go see your friend if you want." The doctors eyes were expectant. Chin stood.

"No."

H50

They didn't deserve what had happened to them. A bad circumstance had been a prelude to the disasters.

_**Flash**__._ Danny won't forget it, not ever. _She stood trembling in the grasp of the clearly angry man. She had just wanted to go shopping. A standoff between the police and a fugitive was not what she had been expecting. Thoughts ran through her head. The most prevalent was 'why me?'. She closed her eyes and implored silently with the fugitive to let her go. The knife stabbed down into her heart. _

_**Flash**__. _Kono still visits her grave, the grave of the one she couldn't save. _Melissa was stubborn. Walking away from Kono, precious, precious, addictive drugs clutched in her hand, she sighed with relief. She would be fine now. The next day she disappeared deep into the woods, to a common hang out spot the police hadn't busted yet. Her shaking hands injected too much of the drug. A haze crawled across her eyes, and a small, bitter smiled touched her lips. She would die. Kono was right. Drugs would only kill her. _

_**Flash.**_ Steve still thinks about the call he made. Maybe if he had waited..._Peters ran deeper into the underbrush, dodging from trunk to trunk. Fury aimed towards the rest of the SEAL team filled him. They couldn't just leave the hostages. It was leaving them to their death. The words of reasoning filled his head. 'they're dead anyway, Peters.' 'Listen, we completed our objective. We've even rescued some hostages. We can't risk our success because of a child left behind.' _SHUT UP! _Peters screamed inside his mind. He crept up to the camp where five hostages were left. The sickly seven year old peered up at him. He was still alive then. Distantly, Peters registered the sound of a helicopter leaving, opting for speed rather than stealth. Peters ignored it, smiled and reached out. _

"_Hey, it's okay. I'm here to help." _

_**Flash.**_Chin still wonders whether he should have reached out again. He wonders if she wouldn't have succeeded the seconds time if he tried a little harder. _Kelina was allowed back to school. Chin visited her often, but felt awkward in her presence. She was distant and cruel, saying things the old her would never had voiced, but Chin stopped listening. He couldn't deal with it. School was too intense to spend his every waking hour helping Kelina to heal. Eventually he stopped coming to see her, not wanting to deal with her abrasive tones, and cruel words. The word of her successful second suicide attempt reached him weeks later. She didn't leave a note. _

H50

Healing is usually harder for ones left behind that those who are injured in the first place. Many have had to deal with the bitter embrace of failure, but a cop, and a friend feels the failure so much more intently. Is it because they feel obligated to have done better? Probably. So often after someone has died, those left behind, look back and agonize over decisions they could have done differently.

_**Memories...**_

'_Shifting weight to the forward foot, not matter how infinitesimal the movement can spark a negative response from the fugitive. Avoid looking like you will attack, or assault the fugitive. They have a hostage. The hostage is the most important. The fugitive, by default, is now the one in control. So you have to talk. Let him know you are aware of their power. But don't make yourself weak. Make yourself present.'_

The words of Danny's first partner would replay over in his mind, again and again. He would imagine the scene, replaying in front of him. He slowed his world, in his mind, and stepped out of his body. He turned, and looked curiously at the situation. The slightest movement, made by him. Preparing to take down the fugitive. Anticipating what had not yet happened. _Rookie_...the word snarled through his mind like it was dirty, something to be avoided. Danny clenched his eyes. _Rookie mistake_. Wide, terrified green eyes snapped to his face. They flicked down, registering his tensed front leg. The silver of the knife flashed. Danny yelled out.

_NO!_

The word shot through her mind as she thought of her friend. _No, please no,_ she wanted to beg. But she didn't. The sad look in the officers eyes wasn't going to change. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a nightmare.

_Oh, it is,_ a cruel voice whispered to her. Kono sank back into her mother's embrace. Later, that night, she stared out her window, watched the stars twinkling in the sky. 'What ifs' ran through her mind, preventing sleep. _What if I had kept the drugs? What if I had talked to her nicely? What if I had offered to go with her. _After all the possibilities ran out, she buried her face in her pillow.

_What if she were still alive? _

Chin sighed in frustration. He wouldn't talk to his family. His mother, father, cousins, friends, everyone was so overbearing. He wanted to be left alone, he didn't want to _talk_ about Kelina. They looked at him with pity in their eyes.

'She was a disturbed child,' His mother said sympathetically. Chin ignored her. Guilt filled him, and sharp pangs shot through his chest, making tears rise to his eyes. Kelina and Chin, Chin and Kelina. Friends forever, she had said three years ago. Chin had laughed, hugged her and agreed. Last year, depression settled. Kelina felt overshadowed by her big sister and brother, and felt her little sister always got the attention. Chin stuck by her through those years.

When she attempted to commit suicide, he was stunned. He thought she was working through it. She seemed so much better the other day. Now, looking back, the streak of betrayal running through him seemed ridiculous. That was when they started drifting apart. Still young and impetuous, Chin didn't think it was something to seriously be worried about.

When she succeeded in ending her life, Chin felt numb. His friend, someone who was a constant in his young eyes, was gone. Chin didn't want pity, because it wasn't him they should be pitying. Nor should it be Kelina. No. They should hate him for not trying harder. Kelina would still be alive if he had cared more.

_No, let us pity the living. _

Steve's eyes narrowed. Peters wife seemed shocked, but distant. She sighed, and ran a hand over her face.

"I guess I knew it would happen someday," she said softly before turning and leaving. Steve closed his eyes. The body of Peters was returning today. Steve had described how Peters had turned off his radio, and ignored blatant orders, to opt to try to save the lives of already dying and dead hostages. He had been found with a young boy, dead days from a raging fever.

_Dementia, hallucinations, stress..._ lists of words covered the pages of the psychologists notes. Peters had left to save the boy, the SEALs knew. They also knew the boy was dead. Why Peters thought he was still alive couldn't be determined, and never will. Rigorous tests are done on the remaining SEAL's states of mind before they are allowed to train.

Steve doesn't feel guilty. He knows he made the right call. But he doesn't _want_ Peters to be dead. He merely accepts it.

As a cop, or as a regular person, we have to understand we cannot always win. Our choices influence the outcomes more than we will know, but can we ever predict the future? We blame ourselves, we blame those around us, or we blame those we cannot ever see again. But little do we remember to give thanks for the memories left behind, or the people are saved by our actions. It is important to live, and not to dwell. Those left behind will never forget them. No, but they do understand. Not everyone can be saved. Not everyone wants to be saved. We live, we die. We will survive.


End file.
